


Communication

by NebulaViburnum



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Empathy, F/M, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Romance, Sex, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulaViburnum/pseuds/NebulaViburnum
Summary: ONE SHOT Outlast 2, Has Outlast 2 Spoilers!Blake and Marta get to know one another. Will Blake come in terms with his feelings of guilt? WIll Marta do the same? What does the future hold for them?





	Communication

 

 

 

Blake feels like he is in a dream. A dream that is both familiar and distant.

 

Jessica’s hands are still clasped in prayer and he feels frightened by the image of this call. It makes him suspicious. It feels weird when Jessica says she won’t let him go and she knows he won’t let her go. Why wouldn’t he? That was the question clenched in his throat. As he hears Jessica pray he feels something strange. He hears Jessica’s voice and feels the trailing of her dying words: _“There’s nothing there…”_

 

And for a moment he is having an existential crisis. He really could use God now. Like, seriously. All of this is flying over his head. There has to be a reason for all of this. These deaths, these false gospels and the abuse of religion to such a high order that it feels like he had climbing up a mountain of corpses.

 

What is not there?

 

Hearing Jessica’s voice fading in and out.

 

Looking at the storage room where she almost kissed him. How he had not wanted to. How he loved Lynn since then; though, he was piqued by Jessica’s affections. That is why he didn’t object her holding his hand. Leading him to the exits — to say he was bit a confused would be about right. Though he was obviously being a little flirty with Jessica and she him, his mind wandered to Lynn more than he would easily have liked to admit. He didn’t completely want Jessica to come over if it meant he and Lynn would be compromised. Obviously, he loved Jessica. But as his friend. He treated her with love and cherished her as well because Lynn had call Jess her little sister.

 

When Jess died, he felt he also failed Lynn.

 

Being manipulated by Loutermilch did not help.

 

He had wanted to confess. He had desperately wanted to say that Loutermilch did it. But he was also afraid. Loutermilch was telling him that it was all an accident and that if they told the truth people would also blame him because he was here after school with Jessica. Loutermilch was a cunning one; he said that Blake had “tainted” Jessica, that is how everyone would view it. That she ran out of fear of her own culpability and when he had cornered her she had fell and broke her neck. Though…a few days later he realised what he had kept silent for. Was he afraid he would lose Lynn if he told the truth? That she would hate him for lying? Or, being manipulated to lie? Those thoughts haunted him. When he was a bit older he realised that Loutermilch had been abusing Jessica. He remembered he knew of a male classmate also being bothered by some priest, could have been Loutermilch as well. It was that scared he gave after she had asked her to pray with him. The half-caress way he had almost touched her cheek. The way he wanted Blake to leave and Jessica to stay.

 

As a child, he didn’t question why Loutermilch was doing that late at school either. True, teachers stayed behind. But it was late and Blake had thought they would only see Janitors and homeroom teachers at that hour. It was almost like…like the priest had stayed behind…intentionally…did he know? Did he know that Jessica may stay late for journal? That wasn’t a lie. They had stayed late for journal. Maybe, his eyes were always on his friend Jessica. He remembered playing a recording or two in reverse: Loutermilch called Jessica “resilient, smiley, flirty, unaware of the power she had.” Hearing that made him sick. Yes, when he was young he had found Jessica pretty and she was beautiful but seeing an adult talk like that — seeing how she had “potential” to be something sexual…he even used the word “ripe.” God, she was only a child. A child like him. They were only ten years old. She wasn’t even yet a teenager and yet he already started an obsession with her. Particularly, her. Though, Blake knew that Loutermilch started having an unhealthy interest in children. And their sexuality. He heard the voice in another recording; telling how he wanted to be involved in the path of adulthood of children. It hurt knowing Loutermilch’s thoughts. They were pretty horrendous.

 

However, how did he know these thoughts?

 

He had them. But, he had no idea how he had gotten them.

 

Loutermilch died when Blake was around fourteen years old. He was really happy that Loutermilch died. Some years later, when Blake was around nineteen he remembered that in St. Sybil there was an investigation on some priests and teachers. Loutermilch was one of them. Despite his death, the school was charged with hiding the crimes of teachers who preyed on students. He should have spoken then as the fifteen-year-old girl and a younger boy on the sexual and physical harassment. However, by then he too had suppressed his memories. Believing Jessica had died in a suicide that her neck was broken.

 

 At the funeral, Loutermilch had spoken kindly to Jessica’s father, who remained stoic, glum and had no tears in his face. It wasn’t necessarily shock; Blake knew that Jessica’ father was like an asshole. When they were growing up, Jessica’s father had married within months after her death. The man now had a new family and may hardly remember he once had a daughter. People approved of his choice after all a man remarrying in conservative circles was nothing. It was a woman who remarried that usually got a boot thrown at her face especially if she had children or had fallen in love again.

 

And he had married Lynn. The person he loved the most and person he wanted to be with since he was a kid. He was lucky that she still cared about him. That when they grew up they hadn’t gone apart. He was very lucky that Lynn decided to still be with him. That their love was something pure that came out of a dreary place like their school.

 

Now, Lynn was gone.

 

Looking at Jessica praying he realised…what the…the nothing could be…

 

He got up and with him Jessica got up, “Blake.”

 

“I won’t let you go Jessica.” Blake spoke, hearing himself as a ten-year-old again, “You are very precious to me. To Lynn. I hope you know that.”

 

Jessica smiled her teasing but somewhat knowing smile, “Of course, I do Blake.” She reaches, easily, for his hand.

 

Blake doesn’t give it.

 

She looks at him.

 

“But…Jessica I have to go on. I am still alive and I married Lynn. I love her. Maybe, she is dead…” Blake started sobbing, “Even if you were around I would still marry her. I have paid for not telling about Loutermilch. I lost Lynn. I lost you. But, I have never let you go. You are in my heart.” It was in this answer Blake, strangely heard the voice of another, “ _Righteousness cannot pass in blood by loins, but the blood of your heart_.” It seemed weirdly appropriate to his case here, he was not thinking only with his feelings, his feelings were pure though, his regret was also pure, but he had to move on, “I am not gonna forget you Jessica. You were always there for me and I failed you. I know. I was just a scared boy Loutermilch manipulated. I was going to tell and then he died and I did not know the truth anymore. I have accepted I failed you. I accepted your fears as my own when I saw the demon chase me: it was also my fears. I can’t stay Jess. I need to move on.”

 

Jessica was still smiling.

 

Yet, her smile seemed to have an eerie shadow cast on it.

 

She looked calm and serene. So strangely that Blake, in his young body, took a step back…and then another…

 

Jessica, after his third step, took one in a large stride, “Blake, Lynn is dead. You don’t have to leave. There is nothing, right? She said so. You should stay with me. I will keep you safe. There is danger out there. But in here we can be safe and happy.”

 

“No Jess.” Blake was getting nervous now and he was out of the storage room, backwardly walking as Jessica was also walking forward, “I have to go. I think I had a child now too. Who needs me. Try to understand that.”

 

Her eyes started becoming red. Her bruises appeared and her neck had the angry, red welt on it. Smelled of fresh blood. Blake looked as her eyes started bleeding then the blood became like milk. Soon, those orbs became the white light he had come to see so much coming from somewhere…the radio towers he had surmised.

 

She opened her mouth and the weird sound of the towers came out pushing him back and making him hit against a cupboard. “You then run!” Jessica howled and Blake started running.

 

“RUN BLAKE! RUN BLAKE! RUN BLAKE!”

 

Blake ran. He had no idea who this Jessica was, what she was and even if she was real.

 

He ran towards the exits of the school.

 

He pushed the doors open.

 

The lockers were opening and closing. Opening and closing. He half-expected Loutermilch demon to chase him. The halls reverberated with Jessica’s screams. Blake had to half close his ears to stifle the sound that seemed etched in static. He was so scared that he stumbled out into the snow. Then he ran out the main gates…and he was falling…in an abyss like static…like TV static and blurry voices, things he had said and what Lynn had said and what he thought and thoughts of Lynn and hearing distant voices of the cultists…

 

He kept on falling and feeling really scared but too weak to scream but his breath was trying to escape…scratching at his lungs. Like the weird feeling he had, which made him feel like scissors against his teeth.

 

Then he was back…Lungs relieved and a breath fell out only to crash into the looming figure of the woman so tall that she lied a supernatural witch or siren.

 

“No…no…you died…”

 

“Spiller of foul seed. Where is your child?!” Marta, clutching her abdomen, trying to pick up her axe looked at his arms, “Where is the antichrist?” she said this hoarsely.

 

“No…you can’t…” Blake desperately got up. She was wounded and he was gonna fight if he had to. He kicked her on the knee making her scream and crotch down as he fell over backwards. He scrambled up and decided to run…

 

…Only, blood fell out a bit from the baby he was carrying. Lynn and his baby. The impossible baby.

 

He looked down…shivering, scared and trembling…what has happened to the baby…?  
  
Looking at the bandages he had cradled the new born in them…though now he saw a crackling of static…like someone adjusting the antennae of a television or radio…the image crackled and whirled angrily as though a filter was coming off.

 

Soon, it vanished…

 

Blake looked…

 

…and then started screaming.

 

* * *

 

Night descended. The world still cold from death smelled like still a burning. Blake could smell the burnt flesh and wood and of an iron…perhaps the towers, burning finally, malfunctioning enough. The cool moon was an old spectator. Merciful, kind but also hoping one found their own tracks out of the wilderness. The moon had been his compass. The only reality he had felt real enough to trust. The clouds surrounding it seemed warmed by the light and everyone looked peaceful with the moon around. No fog could smother it away nor cult nor scalled nor heretic. The moon was no one’s and in it, it became everyone’s to trust.

 

The fire was crackling. Blake still was having trouble folding his arms. He had folded them to carry the baby. Now, any action that made him think about the baby made him uncomfortable and wanted to make him puke.

 

“Remnants of a diseased womb.”

 

Blake looked up and saw his so-called neighbour. The tall woman Marta. She had given up trying to kill him. For now.

 

She had punched him.

 

To make him stop screaming.

 

Yet, she too was surprised.

 

There was no baby.

 

There never had been a baby.

 

They all saw something that wasn’t there.

 

The last flash of light may have been the radio finally going out.

 

Running at overcapacity the feedback loop; its so-called gospel ran out.

 

It burned and took with it the summation of its parallax. A mass suicide.

 

He carried nothing.

 

That was why Lynn had meant.

 

She died from a nothingness.

 

A nothingness that got half her womb out.

 

It was ghastly he was carrying that.

 

Now, Marta saw the nothing too.

 

Though she could not understand why it was nothing.

 

“Where is the antichrist? Did you kill it?” she had asked.

 

“There never was a baby.” Blake blankly told her in shock. Marta had grabbed him, shrieking a bit, as her actions opened her wound more.

 

“You spiller of foul seed; you…”

 

“I spilled nothing. The milk was already spilled. From her eyes. The blinding light. The horrific cry. Don’t we see. The apocalypse was a self-fulfilling chapter in a series of events on a loop. It was the towers. Near the mines. It broadcasted to us a destruction.” Blake, realising the truth, trembled, shook, he was clutching Marta’s hands, “It was all an elaborate scheme to kill us.” Remembering the document by the lake, he had for some reason not wanted to get in the water, he saw Loutermilch heading in and he was scared, but something seemed to be there in the distant, his camera flashed. In the water, when he had swam a bit, he heard Loutermilch call out, from underneath, “let me help you” and the fear made him swim faster to the other side of the bank. The old traveller called them subjects and soon to be projectors. It was a scheme by a group. All along. All along they were controlled by an institution that abused religion to get their goals using non-empathetic science. “Don’t you see?” he clutched Marta’s arms tighter making her almost take a step back, “We are mice in a maze and we have dined on the poisoned cheese. We were all meant to die. Death was the end. Our own destruction, so they could…they could come and collect our remains.”

 

Marta, blood smeared face, looked at him angry, “Who is coming? The antichrist?”

 

“Yes. In a way, they are the antichrist.” Blake struggled to speak, “We don’t know them….” Struggling and laughing like a maniac to which Marta could only stare, “We were in an experiment. Maybe, they wanted me around too, or, was anyone scheduled to come? Or, was I the factor that catalysed the experiment.” He dropped down again with Marta looking, “Lynn was right. Anna Lee may have been murdered.”

 

Without warning, he got up and punched Marta who just clenched her teeth and glared, “You!”

 

“No, you!” Blake looked angry but also miserable, “Did you have to kill Ethan?! Ethan was a good person. Ethan…he…how come he wasn’t mad?” Blake started shivering and he clutched himself. “Ethan was becoming sane. How come? How did he become immune from the radio? Is there a way to stay sane?”

 

Marta looked on.

 

Throughout the day, they had just looked at each other. Standing. Blake could not look at what he had been carrying. Marta looked at it carefully. Feeling a child would pop out of the eviscerated half-womb. Soon, when night fell she made a fire a few feet away from the town square clearing. It was instinct; she knew darkness could shield even from the devils she knew — so, she put in some stick together and got a fire. They sat on opposite sides. Neither trusting the other. Blake felt oddly cold and couldn’t stop shivering. Marta took some of the bandages from the supposed baby and tied them up on herself with blades of grass. After a moment, Blake, hesitant, threw her another bandage which she, awkwardly, in some moments, took and put more grass to bind her abdomen. Now, the adrenalin was passing, she seemed weaker. Unable to properly stand without a stagger. Though, Blake knew that she was an adept warrior and if he even could run she would try to follow him. Something told him, evilly, to incite such an action for the satisfaction of seeing her bleed out and die. Only, if she did catch up, she would get the satisfaction of clobbering his loins with her axe and then after castrating him she would clobber his face to nonexistence. And equal equation of fury. So, he decided not to risk some sort of sadistic happiness for his would surely tempt another’s.

 

“There was no child. Papa was…How come he was wrong?”

 

Marta seemed to have been talking to herself. Though, Blake didn’t want to hear about that man.

 

“Stop, okay. Knoth was the real spiller of foul seed. That man was completely riddled with syphilis and gonorrhoea! And he had the audacity to hide he was talking medicine for it!”

 

Marta scrambled up on with her pickaxe, grabbing his collar, “Papa wasn’t sick! The Scalled were wrong thus they were sick!”

 

“Fucking ‘sickness of the soul’ bullcrap!” Blake for a moment didn’t care, he lost his fears and went for it, “They had syphilis and they were not at all bad believers, okay. They try to crucify me and bury me alive and eat me because your Papa said that a scalled messiah would able to bring them penance. Even till the end they believed the gospels. You know one of them even questioned me what I was doing there, a woman said I wasn’t afflicted so why as I there. She wanted to attack me. She felt I was coming in-between her penance!”

 

Marta had enough and almost slapped Blake, but he was once quick to deflect it, “I am not lying, Marta! I know your faith was called ‘imperfect’ because you didn’t want to kill people! I know!” Marta tried to hit him again and she half succeeded in giving a jab to his jaw.

 

“I…I am not imperfect!” Marta looked enraged, “I am righteous and true…” she picked up her axe, “You spreader of lies…you…” Marta grabbed her abdomen and came crashing down on Blake. Blake felt her sinewy muscles. Her both strengthened yet wiry frame. She was tall like a grim reaper and so live ivory as though some parts of moon had knitted her skin. She was like the cleaned bones of a carcass too. Her whiteness evoked some form of sad beauty. She did not stop there. Blake’s half-tanned skin clashed against her fairer one as she grabbed to choke him. Blake in a panic got a rock and smashed on her shoulder and she cried out as he tried to wiggle out from under her. “Don’t leave you rotten…” she clutched on to his shirt and Blake struggled.

 

“I am not lying!” He was growing tired, “I am not. I even read Val’s journals when they decided to leave. I came across a letter…” he struggled as she came up close to his face, “It was to Paul I think he was talking about you guys travel to the world to get gasoline and stuff and how a young man sold Papa Knoth some medicine for syphilis which he termed as ‘gash.’ That man later on killed himself for feeling he had offended Knoth. Yet, he was not lying. Then another woman said she needed penicillin. Look, those wounds happen for STDs like Syphilis. You made them like lepers suffering from a biblical sin. But your Papa had sex with anyone he liked. That causes problems. Trust me. I know you don’t want to but I have done nothing to any of you. All we came for was to know what happened to Ethan’s daughter. That’s all. And, now I think I know.”

 

“You’re lying.” Marta looked unhappy but also enraged, “Papa, Papa had me some times. I wouldn’t be un-sick if it were true.”

 

“His condition must have gotten worse recently and the medicine have not been working. I am assuming you didn’t do anything with him recently.” Blake looked at her, her hand on his shoulders, “That is why you aren’t sick. You count yourself lucky he lost interest in you.”

 

Marta slapped Blake, “Papa never left me…he loves me…and he made me his enforcer…”

 

Blake looked at her angrily, half-punching her, “He never asked you to be his solely did he, did he? Knoth was used like everyone else. There was something, something that was controlling all of you. And, it completely took Knoth over. Now, this happened. You, must understand. I am not gonna lie to you. Where is the child then, the so-called antichrist? It’s not here because it never existed. You guys…” he trembled looked at Marta’s face which was as angry as his but also filled with dread as his, “You guys are responsible for killing Lynn. If you let us leave. Maybe, I could have…” Blake started sobbing, his hold on Marta’s shoulders relaxing, “Lynn could have…been alive. Whatever was wrong with her stomach…maybe, maybe, I could have gotten her to a hospital by the end of the night. If she wasn’t here that thing that was wrong with her wouldn’t happen. It all could have been averted.” Blake starts crying, sobbing, then uncontrollably crying, “I knew since I was six years old. I loved her and she loved me and we both spend most of our lives together. How many people can say that? I miss Lynn…this is all horrible…”

 

For a moment, Marta’s face relaxed too, “So, she your yokemate then?”

 

Blake registered the question. It was just that he had expected a thrashing, “Lynn was my wife.” He smiled as he sat on the ground. The struggle temporarily over, “I knew Lynn and I were to be together. When I met her as a child, I knew we were to be together. Jessica knew too. I think she was a bit jealous or felt left out. That was why she tried to kiss me. But then she didn’t. She knew I belonged to Lynn. And, Lynn belonged to me. It’s just been like that.” He looked down on the ground, then at the moon, “I feel like…I don’t know what to do. I though we have a child now. Things may work out. I have nothing…”

 

Marta looked at him. Then she looked at the town clearing, “You said going back. You have that. My home is burned, people I knew all my life gone, Papa is dead and my purpose is obliterated. I either walk now this barren ground and live off whatever next calamity comes around. Or, end it like the villagers.”

 

“There has already been too much hurt and death…” Blake sobbed, “I rather you not kill yourself.” Then he hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder, “I don’t think I can see another fresh dead body. Please, just don’t…”

 

Marta looked at him.

 

The crickets called out and they could hear grasshoppers move in the night. A stray call from a surviving chicken scuttling about the tall catnip. Only the smell was evidence of what had happened. Dead cows and horses still were rotting and one could hear the flies having their grand feast.

 

“Who is this Jessica you speak of?”

 

* * *

 

Another night pulled up its curtains of clouds even before the window of day seemed to have been half-lit. Marta and Blake sat again by the fire. Only, they weren’t in the town anymore. After a night of blank dreams and only the pieces of static in his head, Blake had asked Marta that they should start walking slowly. He realised whoever built those towers would be catching up to them to see why the signals had stopped. He had buried Lynn. He dug her a grave near an unburnt part of the woods and kept her there. He couldn’t carry her along but he couldn’t leave her like that. Blake did not wanna stay in this blasted Temple Gate anymore. However, something told him to not leave Marta behind. At first, she had said a firm “no.” Though after walking a distance he saw Marta walking slowly, dragging her pickaxe along with her.

 

His first instinct was to run. After all, what designs did Marta have he wasn’t sure. Then he saw her just waiting. A bit farther away from him; she was wondering what he was going to do as well. He signalled her in a friendly manner. She dragged the pickaxe, clutched her wound and followed. They went walking slowly; both pretty busted up. Soon all there was, was tall grass and catnip and a beautiful zephyr and all Blake did was close his eyes and feel it. The sun warmed the earth but his boots were still adapting to the massive journey he had with them. Though he knew his feet were probably swollen and when he opened his shoes he would see the cuts and bruises that he had received from a day ago. Looking at Marta’s bare feet he sympathised. Though, judging by her height and the size of her shoes (which were bigger than his) he was sure that no one would custom make shoes her size in the town and she had gotten used to travelling without them. Her feet looked trodden and blistered though. At times, he could swear he could hear Marta curse underneath her breath, the heat of the day bothering the soles of her feet. Though, it was not so frequent so Blake decided to not worry about it too much if Marta wasn’t.

 

They came near a stream. Blake was itching to take off his clothes and take a dip. He felt incredibly filthy. “I…” he started, Marta looked at quizzically, “I…. need to clean myself…is it okay if I…I mean…” he did not know why he had started blushing. He thought how the only woman to really see him completely naked had been Lynn.

 

“You need me to avert my eyes so you can rinse yourself.” Marta spoke solemnly in her raspy tone, granted he never though he would hear her speak aside gospel snippets, “Sure, I will avert my eyes.”

 

“Thanks.” Blake meekly stated. Then before he got in, “Do you, do you also wish to clean up? We can look at opposite directions and just rinse ourselves.”

 

Marta took a moment before she answered, “I might.”

 

“Okay.” Blake nodded.

 

His clothes were ripped up and smelling. He hated it but he tried to clean them as possible. When he took of his shoes he almost cried out roughly in pain. His feet had blisters and cuts; the water looked less polluted than the banks he had left behind so he dipped his feet in, praying no illness or leeches came upon him. He washed his clothes then using his hands just cleaned his wounds with the water. He looked at the long scratches, deep gashes, smarting and angry, and sighed. He needed some time in an emergency room; though, he was scared of the questions that came from that. What would he tell people? And, what of Marta? Surely her pickaxe would cause a commotion and a whole barrage of questioning. Yet, she needed medical assistance. That cross that impaled her; he thought it went through her heart but it seemed to be have seared deep on her abdomen and the shock of it caused her to stop. Almost look like she had died.

 

A yelp caused him to turn. Mostly, by instinct, for a moment he thought he was with Lynn. He thought it was raspier way Lynn would make a sound if she was hurt.

 

He had forgotten that he had been forced to leave Lynn in that church…how he wished he hadn’t…he thought he had a new born in his arms and could only carry one of them…now…now he didn’t know when he did think should he have still carried her; then he had to bury her…for he looked at a naked Marta…her ribcage somewhat protruding, latticed with strong muscles, also slight abs on her stomach and midriff. She looked less like a sepulchre tomb and more like some slice of feather mixed with white butter melting in the sun. Her breasts, not large, yet sweet and her nipples purplish-pink like some painted flowers. Blake just froze as Marta looked at him, as she yelped. He was initially afraid if she would take her pickaxe and attack him for seeing her.

 

She just looked at him. A darker touch to his body than her own. Though not so tanned as some of the men she had seen in her life. His was a softer hue of a man not so accustomed to the sun. Almost, pink like hers yet a shade deeper, like something blossoming near morning and noon. His muscles were firm, his shoulders wide and his chest as well. He had less pronounced muscle than hers yet looked abled and fit. The characteristics of a man who would be considered beautiful in some regard. He had a shaved head which was convenient when he ran as most of the men of the cult had also shaved heads. Though from the grains she could see a deep shade of brown. A brown that would be nice to sway in the wind.

 

Marta’s hair was oily but it’s black complimented with her skin so white, almost like wires to the bone. Yet, the image was sharp not unpleasant. In all this sharpness, Blake noticed her cool, cerulean eyes that were coloured like the like day, a dip of sky into clouds. Her body felt like that now. They had both quickly hide their sex from each other. Blake had to cover little, as the less taller man, the deeper water helped. Marta, soon hid her breasts as well. She could not deny she had gazed at Blake, this man whose name she didn’t know aside “outsider.” While, he seemed to know hers. After all the town folk spoke of her with both awe and fear. They kept away from her. She was the enforcer. The sentinel who could sniff out heretics or catch someone doing something they weren’t supposed to. People would cower as she walked past. They never wanting to come in her way. Some did say she was a witch at one time or another. Her good gaze in the darkness (she supped on fish) and her knowing almost every patch of land nearby by muscle memory and instinct. She had carved the landscape into her bones as a motor engine tunes in pipes. Everyone knew her and yet they did not.

 

And, now this outsider had seen her nakedness. She had seen his. So, her once mortal enemy and she exposed to each other. How odd the destinies work.

 

“I…I am really sorry. It was not my intention. I lost my train of thought…I thought you were…someone else…”

 

“It’s alright.” Marta sighed, “What is my body now. It feels like nothing. I have no purpose. I am a stray.” Blake apology suddenly turned another way.

 

“That’s not true. Your shame is still your shame. But, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Blake carefully chose his words, remembering how Loutermilch thought he was wrong and he was made worthless by something as harmless as a tackle. This was harmless too. It was nothing but a gaze by accident.

 

“So, didn’t you…” Marta voice was crackling, it took him a while to realise it was not static, “You fathered nothing and have probably no seed to spare for evil. Yet, you were punished. What does this all mean?”

 

It had been only him breaking down.

 

It felt strange to see that goliath of a woman cry.

 

He thought of her as a supernatural force. Like some crazy demon…what was it call it in Norse mythology? A Valkyrie? A Walrider? Some furies? No, that was Greek mythology.

 

Though she was a person like him, a human being. And, she had suffered too. This wasn’t God. This illness was all human. Human beings doing what they do best in the worst ways.

 

He had been trying to not think about Lynn. Hearing her cry reminded him so much of Lynn — Lynn crying when Jessica was discovered, Lynn crying afterwards as they were taking Jessica away, Lynn crying at Jessica’s funeral, Lynn crying because she broke her leg and Blake seeing the image of something break made him restlessly assist her which of course he didn’t know then was trauma, Lynn crying when his mother died, Lynn crying when his father died a month later, Lynn crying seeing him cry — It all grew together like a knot hurting his neck.

 

Marta felt the arms on her and she was fast to react. Though, this time she didn’t. Blake kept a distance from her and stared at the water; not her back. “It’s…it’s…gonna be okay…I told Jessica I need to move on…I am gonna try…I know you can too…”

 

Marta was a bit stiff. It was a long time since someone embraced her. And that too to offer compassion and kindness. This also from an outsider. She touched his arm and heard him pause his breath as if wondering what she might do. She just trailed a line on his scar. Gently. No pressure. Though, Blake didn’t really trust this action. He slowly let go and went to the other side again.

 

Both of them still unsure of the other. Marta had no ill intents but she had tried to castrate him with her pickaxe so his softness, to this extent, was unexpected. All she could mutter was:

 

“Thank You.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Night seemed to help them have conversations. They had met enveloped in darkness and now they seem to consider it their blackboard for writing out a preferable syntax for speech. Though Blake knew this shouldn’t be the norm. Though still not trusting of each other fully it felt the darkness would drug their alertness and make them talk to each other. Blake started talking about who Jessica was. He did not censor anything. He talked about how he and Jessica were good friends. As a child, he found Lynn and Jessica to be his only friends. Though they were girls and he had little to no male friends he trusted them and loved their company. However, it was Lynn who he fell in love with. Then he talked about Jessica’s suicide he also talked about Loutermilch, how the man had killed her while trying to get his way with her and how he was forced to keep silent. He talked about his parents dying when he was around fourteen or fifteen years old. How his father passed away a month from his mom. And, in the back of his mind he always thought that he was being punished because he had lied about Jessica. So, in some ways he took the punishment. But, then Lynn and he were inseparable. Then they got married and he realised Lynn was his only family. His family who needed and wanted.

 

“You said your priest tricked you…” Marta started solemnly, “Though it ain’t your fault if he tricked you. You were a boy. And, then you had your yokemate. I would say you did well for yourself.”

 

“Now, Lynn is dead.” Blake said it a bit coarsely than he should have but Marta didn’t remark on it.

 

“So, Jessica died. And, you said you met her again.” Marta spoke after a moment, “Because of the light? And, the horn like noise?”

 

“Yes.” Blake answered, putting strength into, emphasising on the truth in his words, “I am telling you. Most of the times that light made me see her. Go back to my childhood. Go back to the past I had suppressed. I think…” Blake now looked down, “I didn’t completely go mad because of it. The repressed memory. I had something that served as an obstruction to whatever that radio was pumping.”

 

“You think these radios made Knoth what he is.” Marta did not sound angry now. She sounded cold. And alone. And a bit afraid.

 

“Yes. I do think so too. We are all, we are all people here used by someone.” Blake fidgeted. He knew what the next line of natural questions would be.

 

“By who?” Marta asked, forcefully, “What devil could have done this?”

 

“I was not sure. I am not lying to you.” Blake knew Marta had reservations. She still didn’t fully that the Scalled were innocent. Yet, he couldn’t blame her. Under that influence of those radio towers, he had seen and felt so much as well. And, she had for far longer. However, she seemed to question what had happened to her if not her Faith in God. Which was good. Suddenly, something flickered in his mind, a memory of reading something, laughing at it, “There…there might be an answer…”

 

“You know something?” Marta’s arms were folded and she looked alert.

 

“There was a man, there is a man, his name I think is Park…he uploaded something on the internet. The internet is a space in a computer where you can do research and communications.” Answering Marta’s blank look to the word ‘internet’, “And he uploaded something…Oh my God…” Blake remembered clearly now.

 

“What, What?” Marta came closer to him and grabbed him, not roughly but firmly.

 

“He said he was escaping an asylum and…people were sick and believing weird things and saying they saw weird things. It wasn’t their sins that came alive but something dark that mixed with their corrupted desires and it made them feel like _this_.” Blake almost hyperventilated, “Oh God. This happened like two years ago. It happened in an asylum. And, the company involved was this corporation called Murkoff.”

 

Then Blake looked at his camera again. Scrolling through footage; looked at the school recordings. In the latter ones, he had pause but it was there. This blurry white “M” mark. “What is it?” Marta looked at him looking at the mark.

 

“The mark of the beast…Murkoff.” Blake looked at her, “This corporation is behind what happened to you and to everyone.”

 

“Murk-off.” She pronounced the name. “So, this company made us cattle for slaughter.”

 

“Yes.” Blake looked at the logo, there was no way now this could be denied. That Park person had uploaded this document. He had answers. He needed them. What had happened to Lynn? Why was there no child?

 

“I will kill them.” Marta looked enraged, “They…arghh.” She clutched her abdomen and almost fell down on Blake again.

 

“Take it easy…” Blake slowly grabbed her, “We are not eating much aside badly ill fish and weird fruit, and you are injured. I think we will slowly run out of bandages.”

 

Marta may not have completely believed him yet. However, she too seemed eager for answers. If Murkoff was an answer she would gladly look into them and rip them to shreds if need be. She was gasping though. Blake gave her some water from a flask he was carrying. The water in the stream looked sanitary enough.

 

Marta drank some of the water. She spit out the last bit which Blake felt was okay as who knows if her mouth was hurting.

 

There was silence between them.

 

“Should we find this man named Park?” she asked. “I think we should. It is not wise to go to the enemy unprepared.”

 

Blake had to admit Marta was right. Murkoff was a big corporation. He still couldn’t believe that they were behind Temple Gate. He knew Marta didn’t but because there was no child and because everyone died obviously, she needed answers. However, they did somewhat believe and that was good enough to survive on for now. Murkoff: this large corporation was playing with people’s lives like this. Yes, corporations are not innocent but the level of immorality and corruption this deep? It was so disgusting and twisted. What was worse they were using God’s name to hide what they really were. Blake was sure even demons put their trademark on their own things. This was so heinous and deplorable. He had no words aside words to describe some level of horror. And those words became insufficient after a while.

 

“He is the on the run. Murkoff probably wants him dead.” Blake stated, then with a heavy heart, “I think we are now also the run. If Murkoff realised we know like Park and we survived I think our days would be easier numbered.”

 

“We already survived their false apocalypse surely we can survive anything they throw at us.” It didn’t seem like Marta was making a joke. Though she smiled. It seemed nice in the night. Slivers of moon. He realised this woman was older than him. She looked like she was in her forties or fifties though he could be wrong. Though, she didn’t look aged. She just looked strong and pretty in her own way. Blake didn’t even realise he noticed she was pretty. It didn’t register really that much when he was being chased. She did cover some part of her head in a loose veil; not that it really hid anything, was more like custom than anything. Though it was a joke Marta seemed to have grasped that her Armageddon didn’t happen. That something else happened. She was willing to find out.

 

“I don’t know…did I survive this?” Blake questioned, though Marta gave almost an incredulous look, to which he rubbed his head, “I suppose. Even if it was close we did.” It came to both their attention that they had been using the words “we” and “us” as a unit.

 

They didn’t know if this was smart idea, however, it was an idea. An idea, they seemingly didn’t mind to get used too.

 

Blake liked that. It felt less empty when he talked like that. His heart ached for Lynn. His mind also thought of Jessica. She had been a bit angry when he said he would leave. Was she really angry? Or, just…just didn’t know what his choice was yet…if he stayed in that weird past…it would be like old times…no shame, no derision, only him and Jessica and they could talk about Lynn. Perhaps, Lynn was there too? Would it be like old times. But then he was keeping them, right? Out of his own selfishness and his own inability? They all needed to move on.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Marta and him were close to each other. Huddled. As if ready to fall asleep.

 

“Who, precisely, or whom, Lynn and Jessica.” Blake answered, almost sheepish smile on his lips.

 

There was another stretch of silence, when Marta questioned, “Did you have romantic feelings for this Jessica?” Blake realised that Marta was not thinking Jessica was crude or anything like the Loutermilch had. He remembered reading a note by a Lisa who wanted to have sex with Papa Knoth. It seemed that want of sex was common in their cult even if it was not necessarily given liberties. It seemed having loads of sex to birth children for sacrifice was the key. He wondered if Marta had any children she had been manipulated to kill. Decided not to question that now.

 

“No, I loved her a lot as a friend. My love went also to her as Lynn loved her as a little sister. I feel I let her down. I should have protected her.” Blake miserably stated.

 

“You are but a child. How could you have really known? I see the children amongst us always unhappy. Never willing to die. They are too young to even know the meaning of duty.” Marta spoke and then chuckled, Blake looked at her with some inquiry, “Here you are regretting over the death of someone who you did not even murder. And I have killed so many yet I have doused my guilt in oil and burned like fat on a lamp that now it seems like the chaos is my bonfire.”

 

“Your heart was imperfect.” Blake says this without really thinking; Marta looks at him, gazing, an answer she hopes for, “It wasn’t cold enough. I think your Faith is fine.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say. She feels she already knew that. Though people feared her she felt she could understand that what they fear was her stirring heart behind the pickaxe she carried. It never stopped for the kill. Never paused a beat. Kept on its tempo. She was not a machine nor marionette: but saying she was human was too much for them to do.

 

She holds Blake close. Startling the poor man when her arm goes on his shoulder: “I haven’t asked you, what is your name?”

 

“My name’s Blake.”

 

“Blake.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well, you know I am Marta. But we aren’t really introduced yet. So, I am Marta.”

 

“Yes. It’s good to hear you introduced.” Blake was feeling tired, his head almost lolled on Marta’s shoulder. And for some minutes, he dozed off on her shoulder. Marta heard his slow breathing and sighed as she looked at the moon. Whether it was trust or not. She realised, she missed such small closeness, she forgot what it felt to taste the air of someone next to her. The skin of, a text waiting to read on hymn and choir. She knew also his scent was woody but smelled of metal clips like his camera, a musk of something like tea but stronger, she remembered coffee, it was there in small amounts, a sporadic pleasure of the climactic swell of hers. She had secretly known that she could bring it without a man. The feeling of relaxation, of knowing that there was a little paradise to be reached within flesh, that is imperfect. Obviously, she had been shamed by her actions. Though, when the regret, guilt was heavy, and the nights lonesome and troublesome, she just climaxed hoping the stress wouldn’t bother her. She hadn’t a man or anyone in a while. Her body shivered a bit by Blake’s proximity. His expression was quite beautiful. She absentmindedly caressed his head. This was strange. She had wanted to hurt him. Mutilate him. Now, she was caressing his head. How strange did the destinies work.

 

She smelled him a bit more. His coffee, metallic and earthy smell resonated against her cloth, grass and pine smell. It wafted into a harmony. She was not aware what was happening but she shivered. Loved the taste of his smell. She wanted to feel ashamed. Instead she blushed and sighed.

 

“Oh, I am sorry…” Blake woke up registering the sigh, “Please forgive my rudeness…” he was starting with some politeness that he felt was semi-archaic but something she would be used to — however, he did not realise her face would be tinted a red. Wondering if her condition was worsening as she had gotten a pretty awful wound; only to realise that she didn’t look pale…from blood loss…but _flustered_. “I…” Blake’s throat was caught, something in his chest also started beating madly, he wondered what the feeling was…? Adrenalin? Yes. But something else too. He decided to let that word clip in the air like a paperclip on a cloud. What was he feeling?

 

“I am sorry too.” It was when Marta spoke this and Blake noticed that she had stroking his head. He had almost felt troubled. But her hands seem to really be soothing. It was quite funny. Ironic. Those large hands, slender, bony but versatile with a pickaxe. To kill. They had been soothing and kind.

 

“No, wait…” Blake protested before he could swallow the lump stuck between his throat, “That…That’s okay…” He forced the words out not out of reluctance but out of his own embarrassment, “It’s…” no shame, no shame at all for now, “It’s nice…pleasant…really nice.” Then the feeling of regret almost came up, Lynn was not even gone two days, what was he doing?! He shouldn’t…but he was tired. Very tired. He just didn’t wanna be alone. Alone was cold, dark, hungry without pith, cuts and bruises. All the time he searched for Lynn was a rollercoaster of loneliness. Now, he had someone. But, it felt wrong. Maybe, he shouldn’t…

 

Marta started caressing his head again. Before he could say “stop” or anything…the taller woman’s face was close to his, their noses touching. Blake swallowed hard. His blood was running deep than rivers funnelling into a repeating abyss and out again. He shuddered. Marta’s heart raced to and fro like the variations of moonlight mixed with rain clouds. A piercing shrill of thundered accompanied by the footsteps of lightning punctuated and punctured her ribs and heart and brain. She could feel her limbs fill with blood and something rise up between her thighs as though this is what her womanhood could do — stand proud; a cunt was not a vassal; it was as the cock, proud, overbearing and completely strong. The pull of its tides could rival that of the seed maker’s. She knew this now. As she touched his face, his warmth vined into his as easily as climbers on an oak and she kissed him. Her ivory mouth against his morning haze. Swept away, his mouth opened, as if it was somewhat surprise and somewhat desire and she caved in like any intercourse was to begin. Electric and all-consuming storm that powdered down and thundered even in daylight. Crisp like paper and salty as the clouds. She beckoned her mouth to dance as though she were wielding her axe, as if she was swift in chase, her tongue be swift beyond the toil of battle. And she could taste the metal, the coffee and the earth all put together in a dish served so raw and warm but not pungent. This is living flesh; kind and compassionate. Marta’s mouth smelled of catnip and pine and tall grasses and Blake for a moment also swerved here and there, tasting this dark night mixed with hot iron. She was all blood and bone but the kiss materialised her flesh in a different accent. It felt novel and rich. Something told him they both were each other’s fruits after long labour.

 

When the kiss was over, she looked at him. Both blinked by surprise.

 

Blake opened his mouth to say something. Yet, he could not.

 

Soon, Martha was on him. Top of him. She kissed him. Long. Passionate. Blake kissed her. Returned tongue for tongue.

 

At one point, he could feel her opening his shirt and he allowed her. As he too slowly caressed her chest as she his. Cupped with moans, both of them. Soon, with clothes undone and skin unfurled, Marta looked at Blake. She was at a juncture and so was he. Blake was seriously shutting off from other conflicting feelings. He realised he had done it in months but it must have been years since Marta felt any pleasure like this. Marta knew he was the outsider. The man she had relentlessly tried to kill. Now, she felt alone. Not really scared. Just alone. And she realised so did he. Her heart’s blood was feeling molten but also succulent. This felt right. He nodded in consent. She kissed his forehead and smiled and nodded too.

 

It started with her entering him, as in lowering herself into him. Hot, thick, both of them, already somewhat sweaty. Pulling into her his erection which was growing by the minute. He almost started leaking. Blake cried out as he Marta cup his cock with an intensity that left him feeling he couldn’t hold on. More pre-cum leaked; it was quite surprisingly he already didn’t eject his load. She moved slowly one, two and suddenly he climaxed. It was all too much for him in the moment. He tried to get out a bit but Marta held him. He wanted to look apologetic but she smiled at him. She also seemed to have a build-up. They stayed like that for a while, a sweet caesura. After fifteen minutes Blake was eager again and Marta, who had slowly moving, started to move. Blake embraced her and started kissing her neck and slowly nibbling. Marta cried out and brushed the grains of hair of his head. She kissed his nose then kissed his mouth. Her neither regions hungry and ravenous in their appetite to get intimate. She went on and on, gripping onto Blake’s hips as well as he closed his eyes and mouthed some things that she half-heard, half-guessed and also ignored. She could feel him rising up again but then she punctuated her thrusts and hips with his in strong, yet slow strokes, as though she were playing and instrument and he too struggled and practiced to her beat and tempo. He kissed her large, slender hands and she licked his nipple. He touched her breast and sucked on it too for a moment. Her cries and his moans all championed against the crickets, the frogs, distant sounds of half-awake birds. Their grounds rustled in the soft grass, pounded the earth. It was slow, fast and a tempestuous ballad. She could feel her own hardness brush against his and her soft muscle below tug on his cock for all he was to have. Blake was feeling the fury of their twin storms. He felt an impact though he did not feel himself hit anything or be released from anything. Slowly, she felt her hardness let go, her own seed-like wetness pulsated and throbbed like a wild root etching itself on the rocks. Then she felt another tide fill up and soon he too could feel himself full to lid bursting heights.

 

When Blake and Marta climaxed without restrained.

 

With voices, hot and loud as skies before and after a storm; the rusting trees were the only comas to their long duet.

 

The crickets chirped with unison with the stars.

 

Sweat and tongues, glistened.

 

The moon smiled and pulled the cover of the clouds for a while; only to return and give one radiant light as bodies pressed for sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

He was in the school again. But, it didn’t feel like something would chase him.

 

“Blake.” Jessica came out. She looked like she was. Unwounded. Clean and pure. As always.

 

“Jessica.” His voice made him realise that he was not a kid. That he was in his present day adult form.

 

“I only wanted you to stay to keep you safe.” Jessica looked sad, “I know I was teasing you about it. I am sorry.” She looked sad, “It’s just I didn’t wanna see you be alone. And, I knew the baby wasn’t real. That it was what it was.” Jessica kept on pacing softly, “I am sorry I scared you. I thought now or never. You should get out fast before your mind lulls too much and gets trapped here.”

 

“What is, here?”

 

Jessica smiled, “It’s hard to explain. It’s both a materialisation of your memories and also the memories and thoughts of others involved in the memories. It’s like a gateway. To an isolated dimension. It only exists because we exist and have existed. It is a dimension born and borne from our souls and its capabilities tied to our memories.”

 

“Jess. You are _real,_ then?” Blake looked at her with such sadness and regret that Jessica lost her smile.

 

“I don’t blame you Blake. I loved you. A part of me always will. I am fine that you treated me as a friend. I know you were Lynn’s all along. And she was yours. And, don’t feel guilty. What you did with Marta and for Marta is something similar with how you were with me. And, Lynn knows about that and also the thing with Marta. Lynn ain’t mad you know. I can tell you that. You were being human and kind. You like the feelings others may have towards you and you them. It’s not a betrayal.”   She smiled again after being serious for a while, “And, yes, to your question. I am real. I will always be real. But, you shouldn’t think of me only in this school. You are trapping yourself and me here. Don’t. Remember me from other places too. Remember the good. Don’t let it slip away.” Then she looked on the ground, “I think,” she sobbed a bit that got Blake worried, “No, I know.” Jessica sighed, wiped her eyes, “This is the last time you will come here. We know the truth. You beat Loutermilch. Who technically would have killed you to make you keep silent. We fought him out together. Now this chapter has to close. Blake. Even if times get hard remember you resolved to move on. And, I need to go too.”

 

Blake nodded. He hugged the child Jessica like a father but also felt his old friendship come too. Tears in his eyes, “I am sorry Jessica. Please forgive me.”

 

“I already did Blake. But I told you, you are not at fault.” Jessica laughed, “Who helped you escape Loutermilch, huh?” She smiled, “I think it is gonna be okay. It may get hard and challenging but it will get better. I feel it.”

 

“Thank you, Jessica. I hope you get the happiness and love you deserve and everything eternal.” Blake let go and Jessica walked into the light.

 

The school was no longer in night. Winter thawed a bit, sun shone out. The weather was serene and pleasant.

 

Blake walked out the main iron gates. He looked away after a while.

 

When he looked back he saw no school and then he game upon a door.

 

He opened it.

 

And, he knew he was free.

 

* * *

 

They had not really talked much after their night. Though, Marta’s smiles and Blake reassuring body language made them alright. It didn’t have to mean a long relationship. What happened, happened. Though, Blake didn’t feel regretful. He felt calm. Marta felt calm. If they were meant to be something told them there was another long road ahead to figure that out. Though, at least they won’t be alone for this journey. Finding out how Murkoff was involved, finding out Park, all of this they could and would do together. It was great to be a duo.

 

It took another day and a half to reach some road. It was the highway Jane Doe was found in. Blake told this to Marta and she nodded. She knew a part of this road too. The people who went get supplies used this. They took to walking. They had walked for another day, camped out at night. Soon, they started seeing cars pass by. Marta had covered her pickaxe with canvas and reed. She didn’t want to alarm anyone. Though Blake had asked Marta if she wanted to throw it away, Marta’s look gave an answer. Though she said, “This axe will protect us both as long as we keep walking.”

 

It was on the second day, around dusk, twilight on its metallic sheen, a car stopped in front of them. The man who got out was covered well too well. “So, you Blake Langermann?”

 

“Who wants to know?” Blake became defensive and Marta seeing his alarm unsheathed her pickaxe making the covered man take a step back.

 

“What do you want?” Marta glared.

 

“I am Simon Peacock.” The covered man talked. “What happened to you, both of you, I believe you want answers. Am I correct?”

 

“You work for Murkoff?” Blake asked and Marta gripped her pickaxe tighter.

 

“Murkoff rather have be dead and done with.” Simon strongly spoke, “Get the car, both of you. I am gonna take you someplace safe.” Marta and Blake looked at him, “Understand this. Murkoff will wanna kill you now. Both of you. We need to move out.”

 

“Where is Park?” Marta asked, gently. It was just a caution.

 

“Waylon Park?” Simon looked at her.

 

“That could be his name. He has answers with something, related to this. We wanna talk to him.” Marta gestured.

 

“Well, I don’t mind taking you to him. But with me around.” Simon then gestured both of them to the car.

 

“If you try anything, I think you know what I am gonna do.” Marta carried her canvas but still kept her weapon unsheathed.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Simon spoke. “We need to be ahead of Murkoff. When they realise what happened here. That their experiment is over. They will go in. And they will; eradicate anyone who didn’t fit the equation.”

 

“They were not really experiments. They were people.” Blake stated as he saw Marta cringe.

 

“I know that. So, do you two. But to Murkoff you are all lab rats. Smart lab rats. Usable. Disposable.”  Simon got them in the large station wagon. Marta sat at the back, tried to adjust her height with the roof of the car’s. Next to them was sitting something glowing and almost sinuous and liquid-like. Marta noticed it and readied her pickaxe but…it seemed to talk.

 

“So, you guys wanna meet Waylon Park, huh? Don’t know if he would want anything more Murkoff related on his lap.” The thing chuckled, “I am Miles Upshur. I went to a little asylum and got the Morphogenic engine treatment and it seems you guys got a similar dosage of something wicked. Well, I am Miles, well, most of the time. If the nano machines in this pretridish goop choose Billy I guess then I am in a short term deep sleep.”

 

Marta paused she didn’t know what to say, “A demon?”

 

“A Walrider. Another project of Murkoff’s.” Simon elucidated.

 

“Where are we going?” Blake asked.

 

“To a safehouse I have in Nevada.” Simon stated. "And, we will get you proper treatment there." He said looking at Marta, "Don't exert too much energy and just keep steady. We can heal that gradually. You lucky you look like you can take a hit."

 

As they got into the car and the miles of highway kept on stretching out before them, Blake and Marta looked at each other.

 

They would be in Nevada, it would take some time but they will reach there.

 

Marta seemed questioning what she is doing but so was Blake. It would be a new world for her but…she would not be alone. Neither would Blake.

 

In the journey, they had held hands more than once.

 

Whatever happened now had to happen.

 

They just will keep on moving.

 


End file.
